who steals the flags from the crosswalks? i mean, really.
dallin's getting married. he's my younger brother. couldn't be happier. love you becki.
"the medieval club must still be having activities," i thought when i saw some people dressed up and gathered on the lawn by a campus building. they were two graduates getting their pictures taken in their robes and hoods and hats and all. oops.
i rear-ended someone yesterday. 25 years old - and had no idea what to do. luckily mom did.
i love hanging out with my parents.
have you ever seen "goldilocks and the three bears" told in Chinese? it is awesome.
i longboarded at 1 am the other day. true love.
and i started a scooter club - the ruckuses. there are seven members - 3 scooters. we go in rotations.
confession 1: can't wait for "so you think you can dance." fav show. may 21. tune in. you know you're excited too.
confession 2: i know all the words to the taylor swift song "love story."
i have so much stuff to recycle. this will take me at least two trips to carry to my car.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
from a tweed couch, on a mountain
some things you never grow out of. candy, for one. and sugar cereal. my dad, in his early 50's, will still eat sugar cereal with me, in my mid-20's, in the morning.
but, something that struck me today as meaningful and, well, nice was the decision i made to visit my grandparents. i'm on a little retreat. my contracts final is now less than 48 hours away and i am taking refuge in the far-off land of Orem where i can study without my phone and without visits and without temptations, (well, at least the usual ones) and i don't get kicked out of the library.
i'm studying where i imagine my dad used to study, since he lived here and went to BYU as an undergrad, catching a ride with grandpa to provo since grandpa taught music at provo high for years and years. my dad is diligent like that - and consistent. but what has amazed me today and something that i realized i have not outgrown is the wonder that i feel at my grandparent's house. the size has maybe changed a litte. the rooms aren't as big as they seemed when i was younger and the hiding places have all but vanished as viable crawling spots, but the intrigue of the house's personality is still here.
i catch myself getting distracted by the house's accessories, like the lamp that hangs elegantly down on the right hand of the piano, like an illuminated pearl drop earring. later, i move down to the study once the sun has left the wide stretch of windows that kept me warm, and in here - books and books. from "the new oxford history of music: ars nova and the renaissance" to "minute masterpieces" to the "age of elegance" and books on every genre of history. and there are records, vinyl records! and a rack of cassette tapes with labels like "the music man" and "the little engine that could" and "it's a wonderful life, lux radio theatre." some of my grandpa's plaques are on the wall from his years at provo high and some from being the director of a barbershop chorus. one of my dad's watercolors is framed against the brown paneled wall.
i'm sitting on a couch that looks like a tweed jacket. it's pretty sweet. files of family history, music compositions by grandpa, disks of stories, an old chess set, 3-D slides on various desks around me. the wireless router is on top of a stereo from at least 25 years ago. that's an interesting blend of technological history.
a book of picasso's drawings and michaelangelo's too - bottom shelf. books on reading and literacy up higher. which reminds me, grandma was an english teacher. she has all her beloved novels on these shelves. "to kill a mockingbird," "cry, the beloved country," "jane eyre," and collections of thomas hardy, willa cather, and i think everything written by ray bradbury.
over there, a book on poland. gilbert and sullivan recordings.
i imagine my great-grandmother's house was similar to this - at least that which i can remember. nana's house. somewhere in old-money Salt Lake. she had exotic things in her house - from interesting places. fine things and strange things. she used to be a great singer, my grandpa said - she even sang as a soloist in the Messiah at our very own Salt Lake Tabernacle. she and my robust and fiery great-grandpa somehow skimmed past the devastation of the depression and lived a good life with their twin girls (both poets and musicians) and my grandpa, the only boy. i wonder what things/tastes/personality traits i will carry with me from this heritage. probably my love for information, literature, the world, history, music, and fine things. but also, things unexpected.
as i walked with grandpa outside to see his pansies and cherry trees (leftover from Orem's orchard days), i mentioned how beautiful mt. timp looked. "would you look at that..." he said as he gazed up at it. it was gleaming. he told me that one time, he had flown into Salt Lake and saw timp from the air. "that's my mountain!" he told his neighbors on the plane, who wondered why he was so excited. "it is quite magnificent, isn't it," he mentioned as we walked back to the house. now, i know my grandpa and i are different, to be sure. but, today i realized that i shared something very great with him. we both have the same mountain.
but, something that struck me today as meaningful and, well, nice was the decision i made to visit my grandparents. i'm on a little retreat. my contracts final is now less than 48 hours away and i am taking refuge in the far-off land of Orem where i can study without my phone and without visits and without temptations, (well, at least the usual ones) and i don't get kicked out of the library.
i'm studying where i imagine my dad used to study, since he lived here and went to BYU as an undergrad, catching a ride with grandpa to provo since grandpa taught music at provo high for years and years. my dad is diligent like that - and consistent. but what has amazed me today and something that i realized i have not outgrown is the wonder that i feel at my grandparent's house. the size has maybe changed a litte. the rooms aren't as big as they seemed when i was younger and the hiding places have all but vanished as viable crawling spots, but the intrigue of the house's personality is still here.
i catch myself getting distracted by the house's accessories, like the lamp that hangs elegantly down on the right hand of the piano, like an illuminated pearl drop earring. later, i move down to the study once the sun has left the wide stretch of windows that kept me warm, and in here - books and books. from "the new oxford history of music: ars nova and the renaissance" to "minute masterpieces" to the "age of elegance" and books on every genre of history. and there are records, vinyl records! and a rack of cassette tapes with labels like "the music man" and "the little engine that could" and "it's a wonderful life, lux radio theatre." some of my grandpa's plaques are on the wall from his years at provo high and some from being the director of a barbershop chorus. one of my dad's watercolors is framed against the brown paneled wall.
i'm sitting on a couch that looks like a tweed jacket. it's pretty sweet. files of family history, music compositions by grandpa, disks of stories, an old chess set, 3-D slides on various desks around me. the wireless router is on top of a stereo from at least 25 years ago. that's an interesting blend of technological history.
a book of picasso's drawings and michaelangelo's too - bottom shelf. books on reading and literacy up higher. which reminds me, grandma was an english teacher. she has all her beloved novels on these shelves. "to kill a mockingbird," "cry, the beloved country," "jane eyre," and collections of thomas hardy, willa cather, and i think everything written by ray bradbury.
over there, a book on poland. gilbert and sullivan recordings.
i imagine my great-grandmother's house was similar to this - at least that which i can remember. nana's house. somewhere in old-money Salt Lake. she had exotic things in her house - from interesting places. fine things and strange things. she used to be a great singer, my grandpa said - she even sang as a soloist in the Messiah at our very own Salt Lake Tabernacle. she and my robust and fiery great-grandpa somehow skimmed past the devastation of the depression and lived a good life with their twin girls (both poets and musicians) and my grandpa, the only boy. i wonder what things/tastes/personality traits i will carry with me from this heritage. probably my love for information, literature, the world, history, music, and fine things. but also, things unexpected.
as i walked with grandpa outside to see his pansies and cherry trees (leftover from Orem's orchard days), i mentioned how beautiful mt. timp looked. "would you look at that..." he said as he gazed up at it. it was gleaming. he told me that one time, he had flown into Salt Lake and saw timp from the air. "that's my mountain!" he told his neighbors on the plane, who wondered why he was so excited. "it is quite magnificent, isn't it," he mentioned as we walked back to the house. now, i know my grandpa and i are different, to be sure. but, today i realized that i shared something very great with him. we both have the same mountain.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
for the sake of the first time
Dear Readers,
I am one who is wary of sad, unrequited-love poetry. So, forgive me. But, I have to be honest with you all - I experienced something for the first time within the last little while that I couldn't help writing about: a broken heart. It's true. And people - it does hurt! I was taking everyone's word for it. And about the poetry, let's face it - I am in good company. The best and worst of poetry/prose is on this very topic and I am merely offering my meager contribution.
Sabishikatta kedo
i think i am almost over you.
colors that made me think of you
are setting in with the concrete.
i talked you out of us once.
twice.
the second time was to convince myself.
but you
you
you never protested.
some tried to comfort my loneliness,
saying they hoped someone would fill the void.
but loneliness didn't want 'someone,' it said.
it was lonely for you.
it even wanted to keep hurting
because it meant part of you was still around.
but, i think i am almost over you now.
"lonely for you" is sinking into "vague lonely" -
no longer attached to anyone in particular -
and it seeps in like concrete filling an anthill,
hardening inside each chamber,
till the researchers wash the sand away to see the tunnels inside.
I am one who is wary of sad, unrequited-love poetry. So, forgive me. But, I have to be honest with you all - I experienced something for the first time within the last little while that I couldn't help writing about: a broken heart. It's true. And people - it does hurt! I was taking everyone's word for it. And about the poetry, let's face it - I am in good company. The best and worst of poetry/prose is on this very topic and I am merely offering my meager contribution.
Sabishikatta kedo
i think i am almost over you.
colors that made me think of you
are setting in with the concrete.
i talked you out of us once.
twice.
the second time was to convince myself.
but you
you
you never protested.
some tried to comfort my loneliness,
saying they hoped someone would fill the void.
but loneliness didn't want 'someone,' it said.
it was lonely for you.
it even wanted to keep hurting
because it meant part of you was still around.
but, i think i am almost over you now.
"lonely for you" is sinking into "vague lonely" -
no longer attached to anyone in particular -
and it seeps in like concrete filling an anthill,
hardening inside each chamber,
till the researchers wash the sand away to see the tunnels inside.
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